Atonement
by Luna Maria Boulevardes
Summary: She's sorry. She's so, so sorry. There is a voice haunting her, it whispers that Amon may have a point about irresponsible benders. The Avatar must act, but how, oh how, Korra wonders, will she ever atone these sins? Makorra, Amorra, slight Masami, slight Bosami.


**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: This story was edited to comply with FF.N's content rules. To read the uncensored version, go to lmboulevardes . livejournal 757 . html (remove spaces).

* * *

Atonement.

By L. M. Boulevardes

* * *

I. nightmares.

"My sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone."

- Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

Even years later, she is never sure when exactly they started. The only thing she does know is that once they did, she didn't get a moment's rest. She woke up in the night over and over with a black scream clawing at her belly and begging for release. When this happens, she holds herself very still and curls all her limbs into her body like babies do. She bites the fleshy part of her hand, teeth hissing deeper each time until one day she wakes up to blood on her lips and pillow. She cleans it up and doesn't tell anyone, not even Tenzin; it's too embarrassing.

It would be easier (_so much easier_) if her dreams only scared her. She would rather dream of rape, dream of sodomy, dream of others' pained howling. She would rather dream of Mako dying, Asami betraying them, Bolin losing his bending. She would rather dream of a second genocide of airbenders (_this time for __**good**_) where the Equalists unleash their most ghastly tortures against Tenzin and his family. Spirits, to dream of anything, _an-y-thi-ng_ else but what she does because those dreams feel her feel sorry for Amon.

It's Aang's fault. She taps into his memory and she sees Zuko with his scarred face and trembling hands and overwhelming guilt. She sees Katara, screaming and sobbing for her mother at every stage of her life, never truly escaping the pain. In one of Korra's most horrific visions, she's forced to watch Katara use bloodbending to kill a man, her eyes colder than any South Pole winter. Korra wants to stop her, to say _Sifu Katara that isn't you_, but she knows that it must be part of her because Aang would not show her lies.

Besides, Katara must have learned bloodbending somehow, and moreover learned _respect_ for bloodbending somehow, at some point. She was too quiet the day she taught Korra, too sad and too tired as though carrying an old weight. At thirteen, Korra could not understand these things, and even at seventeen she's still not that clear. The difference is just that now she knows that she doesn't understand.

The haunting dream, the one that eats her alive, isn't about Katara. It's about Zuko. She thinks it's his wedding day, based on his elegant robes and oiled hair. He's in a small red and gold room with Aang, and he is staring into a mirror. Gossamer sunlight comes through the floor to ceiling windows on the rightmost wall, making all the gold sparkle still brighter. She's not the kind of girl to swoon over jewels, but even Korra catches her breath at the beauty of it all.

"Big day is finally here," Aang says cheerily. He is dressed in his usual Air Monk robes, though she can see that they're nicer than his day-to-day ones. These ones are made of silk, and he is wearing gold necklaces. She has a flash of Katara picking out his clothes.

"Yeah." Zuko sounds less than enthusiastic, and Aang doesn't fail to notice.

"Cold feet?" He's trying to make a joke, but Korra can hear the very real anxiety in his voice. Zuko turns to look at him just as Iroh comes in.

"Nephew!" he croons. He pulls Zuko into a hug and the Firelord yanks away, fear in his eyes. Iroh blinks in confusion once before understanding settles into his features. He feels pain for Zuko like no one else.

"There's no makeup that can cover it," Zuko mutters. He turns back to the mirror, hands reaching up to fuss with his hair before falling back to his sides. For a minute Korra thinks he might actually throw up. "Why on earth would she want to marry me? A hideous monster." He says the last words so softly she isn't sure Aang and Iroh even hear them.

"It's not a scar. It's a sign of your strength. Like my tattoos," Aang ventures. Zuko scowls and sparks fly from his clenched fists.

"You had a choice about that," he spits venomously. Aang cringes.

"Nephew, listen to me - yes, Zuko, it's another tea story, don't give me that look - anyway, if you look at the dregs at the bottom of the cup, you will only see bitter black mush. The tea those dregs made, however, is delicious. You must learn to coexist with the dregs, for though they are ugly, without them we would have no tea. And that is a world I have no desire to live in," Iroh chuckles. Zuko is silent for a minute then Iroh pulls him into a hug because he knows it's exactly what his nephew needs as well as the one thing he'll never ask for.

Korra tries everything she can think of to stop the dream. She trains herself exhausted, she meditates, she tries fasting and then gorging and then throwing up after gorging. Pema catches her one day (she's not really surprised, she's been losing weight and getting dizzy and her clothes don't fit) and it's the one time Pema ever raises her hand to her. The smack rings through the bathroom and it doesn't hurt but Korra cringes anyway because the sound of flesh-on-flesh is so awful and she's in shock because this is _Pema_.

"Never do that again. Ever," she orders. She grabs Korra and forces her down the hall to her and Tenzin's private bathroom. There, she washes Korra's vomit-laden hands until the skin cracks and bleeds. She forces her head under the facet to clean the bile out of her mouth, ignoring her when she chokes and gasps and sputters. She strips of her stained clothing, replacing it with one of her own silk robes. The final thing Pema does catches her off guard. Pema takes a seat behind her then gently combs her hair with sweet-smelling oil. She weaves the strands into tight braids, and Korra basks in her touch. Pema pulls her into a tender embrace. "Please don't scare me like that again. You could really hurt yourself, Korra," she whispers.

Korra doesn't know how to tell her that that's kind of the point.

She tries aromatherapy and acupuncture and every sleeping draught known to man. It comes to her every night anyway and she never gets used to it. If anything it gets worse. She wakes up shaking and sweating, wakes up and can't (or won't) sleep, wakes up and retches bile because there's nothing in her stomach (she has to clean it up every time that happens so Pema won't worry). She wakes up to tears she's cried in her sleep, and once even blood from biting her lip.

The night that happens, she decides she doesn't care about being strong or hurting Asami and she goes to find Mako. His bedroom is separate from Bolin's, and she's guiltily grateful because she doesn't want Bolin right now. He might tell a joke, and she might earthbend him into dust if he does. When she gets to the door she doesn't knock, she opens the door and goes in. Mako is asleep like any sane person should be (she has a brief thought that that doesn't make sense because stupid Mako isn't sane), and without really thinking about it she crawls into bed with him. Of course, this wakes him up.

"Korra?" It's only one word, but she hears so many emotions in it. Fear and concern and confusion and yes, even desire. It makes her unravel. She starts crying and she doesn't cry like Asami, who she's certain must look pretty even with her face tear-stained. Korra cries in ugly shaking sobs that wrack her whole body and make her nose leak. She cries so hard that even though she puts ice on her eyes in the morning, the swelling doesn't go down and her face stays red and puffy all day. Mako does nothing at first, but then he seems to make some kind of decision and pulls her into his arms.

He adjusts their positions so that she face is buried into his (bare) chest and she can feel his chin on the top of her head. He gently rubs her back and doesn't protest when she tangles her legs in his. When she starts shaking he tucks her under the covers and pulls her closer so they're flush against each other and she's drowning in his fire-warm heat. Pain floods her body and hits her like ocean waves so that every time she thinks it's over she discovers there's another one behind it.

"You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you," Mako whispers against her hair. His words ignite something in her. She wraps her legs around his waist, put her hands on his back and digs her nails in (he tries to control himself but she feels him arch into it). She moves her face from his chest to his shoulder where she sinks her teeth into his skin. Her breath comes in short spurts and at some point her voice joins in, little staccato moans rising out of her throat. Mako doesn't object and she is grateful because damning as the position is, he seems to somehow realize that it isn't sexual for her, that she's just scared out of her mind.

"I'm sorry," she gasps when she is finally able to unhook her teeth. "Mako, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry. Here." He reaches across the bed and grabs his scarf, the red fabric waving above her head like a banner (of what? of victory? of war?). He gently puts it around her neck and she feels an immediate sense of calm. "See? I'll keep you safe. From whatever." He squeezes her in what would be a hug were they not so close and entangled already.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" she asks in a very small voice. He nods and she melts. It surprises her because she hadn't realized she was carrying so much tension.

"Close you eyes. I'm – well, you can't laugh, got it? I used to do this for Bolin when we were kids," he mumbles (his breath is hot so hot against her forehead).

"What are you going to do?" It's so rare he opens up and she's almost never heard him talk about his childhood. She wants to envelop herself in this moment, to remember how warm she felt and how safe. She wants to remember feeling so completely loved, so achingly close to her firebender (because he is hers, and he will always be hers at least in her heart).

"I used to sing him lullabies."

She can hear the embarrassment in his voice and it makes her want to kiss him, but by some miracle she restrains herself. His chest starts to vibrate, and then he is singing softly, weaving her a lullaby that will keep her safe from all things bad.

* * *

II. monster.

Be careful when you battle monsters, lest you become one.

- Friedrich Nietzsche

The battle (battle? The word feels funny to her, because "battle" implies that there's a war and for some reason she just can't believe that) takes place in an echoing stone building. It's old and abandoned, green wet vines and moss covering everything. She has a fleeting thought that plant-bending for be a useful skill to have before returning to the task at hand: escaping Amon.

It doesn't help that it's cloyingly dark. She never used to mind the dark – South Pole winters took care of that – but in the last few weeks it's twisted itself into something scary. There have been two incidents this week alone. Four days ago she woke up in blackness and found she couldn't even move. She tried to get to the door, throwing herself out of bed with intent to crawl. She couldn't do it. She spent the rest of the night curled up in a ball on the bamboo floor, eyes wide and body shaking (like the damn leaf in the damn wind).

Then two nights ago her body reacted without her brain's permission and sent her sprinting into Pema and Tenzin's room. She hurled herself into their bed because that's what she did back home when something upset her; she retreated to the safe place in her parents' bed. Tenzin and Pema woke up at her intrusion. Pema got up to get her a sleeping draught but before she leave the room Korra started shrieking so loudly she would later find out that it scared Tenzin.

"Don't leave. Please don't leave. Don't leave me, just please don't. Please," Korra begged, clutching Pema's hand so hard there would be bruises in the morning. "You can't go. Please, Mommy," she whimpered, ashamed she had let such traitorous words slip past her lips and yet too frightened to care. She was weak and pathetic and undeserving of the Avatar name because Aang at seventeen would have never done this. Aang faced worse at twelve and here she was blathering over stupid dreams (dreams of hands, dreams of bitter tastes, dreams where everything is withered and the only bloom is the red color of Amon's lips).

"Korra . . ." Tenzin's voice trailed off then she felt him pulling her into a hug, cradling her against his chest like she was one of his children. "Can you let me go get the draught? Pema can stay with you?" he asked. She sniffed, which he apparently took as assent. She worried the whole time he was in the kitchen (irrationally, she knew) and only Pema's efforts kept her from breaking down even farther.

Pema asked Korra if she can touch her, and when Korra nodded, she got some perfumed lotion and oil from her bedside table. She gently massaged the lotion into Korra's skin, Pema's non-bender hands emitting the perfect cool-warm touch. When she had done that, she combed Korra's hair with oil and gently wove it into braids just like before only this time the smell of vomit didn't permeate the air. By the time Tenzin returned she felt ready to sleep again, but only if she could stay with them in their bed. She didn't say so much and Tenzin and Pema didn't ask, just adjusted their positions so she could curl up between them. In the morning, Tenzin did not wake her for practice.

Running now, she thinks _who ever knew of a firebender afraid of the dark? _It's a stupid thing to be thinking about when she's alone with Amon chasing her, but that's the only conscious thought her mind can hold. Even to switch thoughts would take too much mental energy. She doesn't have any to spare since that's the part of her brain still in the fight, the part keeping her alive.

Everything is devoted to throwing rocks at Amon (who seems to always get past them no matter what she does). When she stumbles into an atrium, she swears because there's nowhere else for her to go. _Go down, _says a voice. Before she can do so she feels ropes binding her arms to her sides. There is panic. She thinks she's going to scream, but when she opens her mouth no sound comes out. She falls to the floor, bracing for an impact that never comes because Amon catches her in his arms.

"You're fast. I'll give you that, at least," he says, lowering her slowly. She gapes and realizes she's crying when she tastes salt on her tongue. Korra whimpers and Amon looks at her with curiosity. "Nothing to say? No brave words?" He almost sounds disappointed.

"I want to see your face." She has no idea where _that_ came from.

"My face?" Amusement fights to cover fear and anxiety. "Why? To make fun of me like everyone else?" he spits. He kicks her side, an amateur move that reveals just how much she's angered him. "Or maybe you want to gloat, revel in your so-called superiority." He's standing with her hips between her feet and she gasps when he suddenly decides to sit. He straddles her and grabs her jaw, examining her closely. "Fine, little Avatar, I'll let you see my face. See what your curse has done to me." Then he's ripping the mask away and in the moonlight streaming through the open roof, she can see him clearly.

The darkness softens what she knows must be an angry red color, a second mask to sooth marred flesh. The scar cuts around his face from forehead to chin, a long strip that could only have been done intentionally. It is no accident; whoever this firebender was, he wanted Amon to suffer. She is moved against her will, an apology on her lips held back by the knowledge that she will never, ever be able to say anything to make this sin forgivable. So instead she flushes with shame.

"Yes, look," he sneers, leaning closer to her. Now she can feel his breath on her lips (it's hot and sticky and she can smell something sweet). "The hideous beast too ugly to look upon." He's smiling but there's no joy. It gives him no pleasure to say these words. Zuko's memory burns and sets her mind aflame. Her body seethes, and she is _so, so, __**so**__ sorry_ she pulls her head up and kisses him. He jerks back. "What – " He cuts himself off, empty of any words.

"I thought, um." Since when is she so shy? "I just . . ." No, her brain still isn't working quite right. She feels the word _atonement _shiver through her body but has no idea what do with it. Amon continues to stare at her.

"If I cut your bonds, will you run away? Will you fight me?" he asks. She shakes her head, and for whatever reason (maybe _because _she's looking at his face), he believes her. He removes the ropes and she feels a tingling heaviness over her body as blood rushes back into rope-bitten places. He runs a hand over her arm, seemingly fascinated with the bare skin. He looks at her then he lowers his face to kiss her. His movements are timid, underwritten with an unexpected tenderness. When she feels his tongue gaze her lips (just barely, for he is uncertain), she opens her mouth without hesitation. She wonders if he can sense her inexperience.

After a little while at this, he starts to touch her. He buries his fingers in her hair, caresses the side of her face. She puts her arms on his shoulders, and when he doesn't pull away, she slips her hands under his hood to touch his short brown hair. They do this a couple minutes longer then break away. He still has hands on her and his eyes are unreadable.

Amon brushes a lock of hair from her eyes and pulls at her ponytails until her hair is completely unbound. She can tell he likes it from the way his yellow eyes light up, though his lips stay neutral. He runs a fingertip down her neck, watching as fear and pleasure fight to dominate her (there can only be one winner). Amon puts his mouth on the spot where her neck and shoulder meet, suckling so hard it hurts. The sensation increases more and more until he bites her and then she gasps. Immediately he pulls away.

"Did I hurt you?"

Korra could laugh. He sounds so young. She could imagine Mako or Bolin saying that.

"No. Well, yes, but in a good way." For some reason it's easy to tell him that. She supposes it has something to do with making all of this feel good. She (the benders, her people) have so much to atone for, and she (hopes) that maybe she can chip away at that just a little if she opens herself to him. She's always been better with actions than words; this is how she says _I'm sorry_.

"Hmm." He presses a finger against the just-forming bruises and smiles when she hisses and arches her body against him. He kisses her lips again, this time biting so that she squirms and wriggles against him. She'll have to remember that for next time she's with someone because Spirits, does it feel good.

Amon's hands ghost along her ribs and dance over her breasts, testing her resistance. She offers none, so he pulls her shirt off and eagerly undoes her chest bindings. The cold air shocks her into awareness and there is a moment of panic where her mind shouts _stop stop stop what are you doing this is Amon! _It falls silent when she looks at his face. He is staring at her as though she were a sacred vessel, as though she were holy and he blessed to experience the Divine. He looks at her like she is the most achingly lovely thing he's ever had the good fortune to set eyes on.

His hands slide up her stomach, duck her breasts to touch her sternum and then glide over her sharp collarbones. They go over her arms then count the bony knuckles on each of her hands as if assuring himself that she is real. He moves to touch her breasts (at last) but then hesistates.

"I don't want to do anything against your will," he says. "Even villains have honor." The words make her love him and hate him at once and she wants to tell him to go read every biography ever written on Firelord Zuko because that will prove to him that he can be more than he is. She doesn't say anything of these things.

"It's not against my will."

He does not ask a second time, perhaps worried that she'll change her answer if he lets her think about it too long. She won't, but he doesn't know that.

Here are the things she remembers:

That she watches and notes the sensations as though a third-party observer, the witness of the happening rather than the happened-to. She remember the times when he bites her and she mews, made kitten-weak by the his touches (she had always thought violence and pain was the way to get the upper hand; clearly this is not true). He tells "Your skin is soft. You taste nice – like mangoes."

She remembers when she closes her thighs in embarrassment.

She remembers when she forces herself to part her legs thinking _my virginity for your injuries_.

She is scared once exposed, but somehow she knows he's not going to hurt her. It might be the knowledge that the lovers of virgins are known to work extra hard lest they turn the person off of sex for life; no one wants to be thought of as a bad lover, but those initiators even more so. She stares at him through half-lidded eyes, waiting for him to act. He swallows.

"You're – a virgin?"

It's hard to tell in the dark, but she thinks it embarrasses him to ask. She understands; she nods rather than speak the words aloud. His face is unreadable.

"This will probably hurt."

She nods again. That's fine. She deserves it.

She remembers when he undoes his pants she has to try to squash the awful dread stirring in her bones. She turns away but it doesn't help her much because within minutes he's pressing himself against her lips and she wants to say no, that she was just kidding, that she wants to play a new game now and she wants to go home. Tears leak down her face and she can't make herself open her mouth to him.

"Look at me."

She can't.

"_Look at me_." He grabs her hair and forces her when she doesn't comply. The moonlight makes her tears glitter and she hiccups softly.

"Please." She hates the desperation in her voice. "Please – please don't. _Please._" A strong sob wracks her body but she makes no sound, her lips pressed too tightly together for that. He releases her hair, dropping his hand to caress her cheek and wipe at her tears. Leaning over, he drops a kiss on her forehead. She flinches.

"Shh," he coos.

Later, she howls into his mouth as he breaks her. She wonders how much blood there is.

She remember first thought is that it's weird. It's not uncomfortable (other than the pain of the breaking, but that will fade), and it's not pleasant, just alien because no one has ever touched her _there_ before. No man, no woman – she hasn't even used her own hand. Korra feels Amon watching her for some reaction, but she has none to offer. He takes this as permission to move. It really hurts and she whimpers, squeezing her eyes so that he won't see her disstress. _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry, please forgive me, please accept this atonement, please and I'm so sorry Spirits I'm so sorry you have to believe me_.

"Let yourself go," he whispers against her. He pulls her into a kiss, a sloppy one with lots of wet lips and lots of biting teeth. He groans against her and she shudders. "Ready then?" he mutters into her ear. "You there yet?" He thrusts hard and her hips buck to meet it. "Answer me, Avatar."

"Yes." Her voice is breathy like one of Jinora's radio heroines.

"Good," he hisses. (He is no longer gentle, now he slams into her.) "Mmm, oh yes, you're there."

She keens desperately. "_Yes_."

"Come for me."

It's equal parts pleasant and disgusting and when it's over, they are sticky and sweaty and breathing hard. She wonders if he'll kill her now; it would be a good time given that she's way too drained to fight back.

"When your friends find you, just say you locked me out with your earth bending, then collapsed from exhaustion. They'll believe you if the circles under your eyes are anything to go by," he says calmly, moving away from her. She nods. He pulls his clothes back on and when he's done he sees that she hasn't moved, she is lying on the ground in the same position. She must look pretty pitiful because he dresses her; she's ragdoll limp and no help at all. The last thing he does is take out a waterskin and a small sachet.

"Sit up. Open your mouth."

She obeys.

"Take." He empties the contents of the sachet onto her tongue. "Drink." He pours water past her lips and down her throat, only stopping when she starts to gag and choke. She almost spits it out. He grabs her jaw so she can't open her mouth. "Swallow." He doesn't wait this time and tilts her chin up to force her. When he finally lets go she gasps a breath. "Very good."

She feels dirty and ashamed and wants a bath that she doesn't deserve very badly and she's still so, so sorry.

"What did you give me?" she finally asks.

"Prevents pregnancy." He pats her abdomen and she flinches away. "You always surprise me, Avatar," he comments. He kisses her harshly once more before disappearing into the night.

Korra cries for a while then falls asleep. She wakes up to Bolin shouting for the others, who crowd too tightly around her and make her head spin. She knows that it alarms them to see her not moving, not talking or fighting. Korra is many things – docile is not one of them.

"_Korra_!" Mako tears through the crowd and drops to his knees at her side. "Oh, Korra." He thinks he failed to protect her. "You're blue."

"We need to get her back to the island," Lin cuts in. Mako strips off his overcoat and wraps her in it. He then loops his scarf around her neck, taking the time to brush her hair off her face. Satisfied with his handiwork, he picks her up and cradles her against his chest. She buries her head in the fabric of his shirt and thinks about how right he smells.

"Why is Mako carrying her?" Bolin asks. Asami looks very curious to hear the answer.

"Hypothermia. Firebender," he says. It seems to physically pain him not to add an _obviously_ to the end of that statement.

"Oh. Right." Then again, perhaps it doesn't need to be spoke aloud; clearly Bolin heard it.

Korra curls against him, silently begging everyone to just let him hold her. The world is so unsafe, and she just wants to have this one thing, this one place where no one is trying to hurt her. She loves the way his heat burns thorugh her, but even if he were cold as Naga's nose in summer there's no place she'd rather be (she feels guilty because she doesn't want to bring her wickedness down on him).

"Let's _go_," Lin barks. "Squabble later." There is no more discussion after that. Korra falls asleep and then is informed quite unpleasantly that this is Not Allowed. She wakes up to Lin howling in her face, notifying Mako that it is his responsibility to Not Let Korra Sleep.

"You're safe now, I've got you," he murmurs as they exit the ruins. She winces at the sunlight and grabs handfuls of Mako's shirt in fear. His grip tightens. "I promise, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you now," he whispers fiercely. Even getting onto Oogi he never once slips (_because he's not going to let bad things happen to her_). "I'm going to take care of you, Korra. I am."

Tenzin cracks the reins and by the time they're airborne she's aware of only one thing, and that is Mako's voice, loud and clear as he sings her lullabies.

* * *

III. cauterization

You save yourself or remain unsaved.

- Alice Sebold, Lucky

Upon arriving home, Pema sends her straight to the baths with strict orders for everyone to hold off questioning until she's clean. No one seems to like this idea very much, but they don't argue so to the baths she goes. Korra hates the feeling of the water on her skin because she knows that she doesn't deserve to be clean. Well, look clean anyway, because soap and whatever will never be able to do anything about that filth _under _her skin.

_I'm sorry_, she thinks.

She doesn't know anymore who she's apologizing to or what she's sorry for.

Sitting in the baths, she can't stand the sight of her own body. All she can think of is the innumerable misdeeds of benders, the unspeakable sins they've perpetrated. She thinks of dead Katara's mother, dead Asami's mother, dead Bolin and Mako's parents. She can't stand it, can't cope with the awfulness of it all. Over and over she thinks of Amon and Zuko's scarred faces; she knows that there will be more nightmares in her future. In a fit she refuses to waterbend to wash her hair, and when it gets cold, she's hateful to firebend it warm again. She deserves discomfort. She deserves to suffer. She must be punished.

_You want to use your firebending for hot water, Avatar_?

She shoots fire out of her finger tips, letting the water get hotter and hotter without stopping.

(Mako knows he will never, ever forget it no matter how long he lives: bursting into the baths to find Korra screaming, her whole body covered in burns because she's decided to boil herself alive.)

* * *

The healers are called in (against her will) and within a couple of hours she's good-as-new, fresh pink skin all over her body. Even that doesn't help, and she wonders what she'll have to do if she ever really wants to feel clean again. Lying in bed, she stares at the ceiling as people talk about her. She's now on suicide watch. Two White Lotus guards are stationed outside the door with orders to enter if she makes _any _kind of sound. She is currently trying to make sure she doesn't _breathe_ too loudly for Tenzin's sensibilities. It doesn't work; the door swings open and slams against the opposite wall. She sits up to ask what she's done wrong now and sees that it's not the guards or Tenzin but Lin. Korra considers making another so-called suicide attempt just to get out of talking to her.

"What happened?" Lin asks, crossing her arms to assume her Lin-Beifong-Police-Chief stance. Korra's pretty sure it's supposed to be intimidating, but unfortunately she can't be bothered right now; if the Chief would like to leave a message, she might get back to her oh, say - _never._

"Leave me alone." She curls up in her covers. She wants to sew herself shut so no man can ever do that to her again. It wasn't rape, but it wasn't something she wanted either.

"Korra – please. People are worried. If you think my questioning will be bad just wait for Tenzin. Although granted, Pema has expressly forbidden him from doing so until he calms down," Lin concedes. Korra hiccups. _Damn_. That usually means tears are on their way. "I know that sometimes – oh, Spirits, help me. How do I say this?"

In any other circumstances, Lin's inarticulation would be hilarious.

She sits down on Korra's bed and awkwardly rests a hand on her back. Her voice is very quiet as she asks her next question, fully aware of the weight of her words. "You know, I'm sure, that there are certain vulnerabilities we as women must contend with when we go into battle. I am asking you to tell me if you were injured in this way. If Amon used your sex against you." Lin is so kind in this moment yet still so competent; Korra thinks she's glimpsing the woman Tenzin fell in love with.

"No," Korra replies. Tears well up in her eyes though and Lin, with good reason, decides she's lying.

"Oh, Korra." She is out of the room, going for the others and going too fast for Korra to catch up with. She tries, scrambling past the White Lotus guards to follow, but it's not enough. Korra collapses, falling to her knees in the middle of a hallway. Furious tears drench her face. The she's sitting next to opens, revealing a wide-eyed Asami, her (perfect) lips parted in shock.

"Spirits," she mutters. She pulls Korra into her arms and shepherds her into the room, guiding her to sit on the bed. Korra cries into Asami's lap against her will.

"I'm sorry, Asami. I'm so, so sorry. Please forgive. Please," Korra begs (there are nightmare things that eat her mind and hunt her at night, don't you see?). Asami blinks.

"What would I be forgiving you for?" she asks. Her eyes are guarded but she's still, waiting for all the data before making her final decision.

"Bending. Being a bender. Because there are these dreams, you see, and so much _pain_ and it's horrible, it's awful. Benders hurt people, and I swear, I never wanted to hurt anyone, not ever. Not anyone who didn't deserve it, anyway. So I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Asami." She bawls harder and grips Asami's shirt in a silent plea for her to stay and not abandon her and not hate her.

"Korra – it's not your fault. It could never be your fault. Everyone makes a choice. What happened to my mother isn't your fault or Mako's just like what happened to you with Amon isn't my fault or Pema's – or yours, for that matter." Asami looks her straight in the eye.

"How - "

"I'm a woman," she says. "And I recognized the smell. I don't think the others noticed, but I did. And I saw other things, like the blood was in - in certain places. There was seed on the ground. And your on clothes. And your in hair." Her hands shake. "I know what happens with men."

Korra shakes her head.

"It wasn't like that."

Asami strokes her hair. Korra's beginning to think she's turning into a cat from the way people keep touching her head. Not that she's complaining.

"I know. But I also know how you feel right now." She pulls Korra into a hug, and Korra allows it. "It was like that for me. With my first boyfriend," she whispers. Korra sniffs. "I wasn't ready. I wanted to be for him, but I wasn't. It wasn't anything he did - but that didn't make it any less awful." Korra rests her head on Asami's shoulder.

"When do I start to feel better?" she asks. Asami pauses and she makes a choice.

"You feel better when you find a place where you feel safe. You get part of that from your friends and family. The other part happens when you meet someone, and when he holds you know that he won't hurt you. Maybe he tells you that by looping his red scarf around your neck."

Korra freezes.

"I – "

"You should go to him," Asami whispers. She blinks tears and Korra can only think about the fact that yes, Asami does in fact still look pretty crying.

"I couldn't."

"Go, Korra." She wears a look of determination to rival Lin Beifong's. "It's you he loves anyway. I'll be fine." She forces a smile and Korra gives her the tightest hug ever because she's never been good with words (and maybe that doesn't have to be a bad thing).

When she sees Bolin lingering outside Asami's door, she nods to him.

"Go to her," she says. He needs no further incentive. She lingers for a moment, watching him take her into his arms. There is something there, something that makes her feel like she can take Asami at her word about this. It makes her believe that this won't destroy their friendship, because that's something she would hate to lose.

Korra finds Mako on the meditation pavilion practicing his firebending. It's an old, elegant style, one that Avatar Aang and Firelord Zuko reintroduced many years ago after learning it from Dragons. The movements are light and graceful, twinkling like starbeams so as to resemble dancing more than any kind of fighting style. She watches until he notices her and stops.

"Lin said . . ." The words hang in the air then drop to the ground so there's suddenly a wall between them. Korra hugs herself.

"It's more complicated than that," she sighs. Mako nods and she knows he's trying to understand. "I just never really thought about all the awful things benders have done. I wanted to make up for it in some way. I don't really know what I'm saying. But – I want to share it with you. If you'll let me," she whispers. He takes a step closer, holding out his hands.

"I think I did say I would take care of you, back there," he mumbles, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "I mean, if that's something you want. Not because I don't think you can take care of yourself, because I do – but, um, do you understand what I'm saying, maybe?" he babbles. She nods.

"Yes." She takes his hands. They are warm and calloused, and she thinks that if Mako weren't a firebender, he wouldn't have been able to compete in bending tournaments. And if he hadn't been able to complete in bending tournaments, he wouldn't have been able to support himself and Bolin. Anyone, she thinks, could have killed someone's parents – but maybe not anyone could have saved themselves after. They lock eyes, and she knows like she knows she's the Avatar that Mako will do everything he can to never, ever hurt her.

Tenzin Does Not Approve, but she sleeps in Mako's bed that night anyway. He doesn't mind that she's afraid of the dark and needs to keep the lights on. He doesn't complain when she wakes up later, nightmares of Amon ringing in her head. He doesn't even get mad when she has to go throw up, just follows (because he knows she's afraid to go anywhere alone and perhaps even more afraid of _leaving_ anyone alone) and then he holds her hair back from her face while she retches. When she's done he's ready with a cup of water so she can wash her mouth out. When she cries he wraps him arms around her, but he doesn't try to make a move. Not even once.

In the morning the sun comes up. Mako is still asleep but his arms are tight around her waist anyway. She's not all right. Not by a long shot. But she feels safe here; right now, in this moment. That could be a start. That could be something.

* * *

_I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes._

_- James Joyce, __Ulysses _


End file.
